


Zugzwang

by Ella Symphony (LaurenX)



Series: Drabbles [1]
Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Anger, Angst, Canon Compliant, Drabble, Gen, Guilt, Mutant Powers, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 02:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17593346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaurenX/pseuds/Ella%20Symphony
Summary: And it isn't fair, of course, but that's his fault, too, so he can't complain.Zugzwang/Chess/—A situation in which the obligation to make a move in one's turn is a serious, often decisive, disadvantage.(Drabble situated between season one and season two.)





	Zugzwang

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StruckerSiblings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StruckerSiblings/gifts).



> Alternative title: Andy suffers in silence and unfortunately rises.

Hiding against the copious amounts of bullets heading his way, behind a wall, Andy breathed heavily and tried to get his mind in order enough to deal with the situation appropriately. Which was far from easy, considering every time he got some semblance of calm, something would go off and his head would be thrown into a frenzy again. His fingers curled into the stone wall, creating tight fists; he had to stop stalling and just get this over with. If he couldn't deal with this, then he'd never be able to build achieve their dream, to keep his family and Lorna and Dawn safe, to keep _Lauren_ safe and happy—

Bullets dug into the wall adjacent from him and Andy's eyes, which he hadn't realized had closed, snapped open. He expected primal rage to fill him, fueled by fear and frustration, but his heart remained empty, simply beating fast enough for him to worry; but he didn't. Instead, he swallowed thickly and lifted a shaking fist up to his face, staring at it grimly. The hands of a murderer —he would never forget that night in Atlanta. For a moment, he wondered if Lauren also stared up at the ceiling and replayed the events of that day over and over until she was pretty much living through it again. He foolishly wondered if she missed him as much as he missed her, and if she ever thought about following after him.

His hands stopped shaking—his jaw clicked into place as his fist tightened, and cracks began to spread on the stone wall he hid behind, dust and debris beginning to fall. He didn't get to hope and he didn't get to wish; he had left and those were _his_ consequences to pay. She probably didn't do anything but hate what Fenris meant and who he was—that was his fault, too, so he couldn't complain. Adrenaline and hatred were drugs, and they were fogging his brain and clearing it all at once. Andy felt a bitter grin grow on his dry lips and his tongue peaked out to moisturize them. He had to get this over with and now he could see and think calmly even as chaos raged on around him. The grin turned darker, his semi-transparent shadow becoming tangible in order to uphold the fact he wanted something that would last.

He was a liar and he was a monster, but maybe that was alright, too, because it'd been forever since he looked at himself in the mirror and saw anything else—what was the difference, anyway? He didn't remember...

And with that he stepped out from behind the wall, swinging a fist with the torturous desire to destroy in order to regain. It didn't matter what he felt. He didn't matter. Not anymore.

•••

Panting, Andy knelt on the wet ground, trying hard to ignore the color of the substance that coated the cracked surface. It wouldn't help and it would just make him more nauseous and that was something he absolutely could not afford right now. He needed to get up and get back to HQ—how that word had changed and warped as time went on—but his whole body was both like a rock and an overcooked noodle. _Screw it,_ Andy sighed and put his hands down on the slimmy floor, chocking back the vile that tickled his throat.

He might have overdone it a little bit. His aching hands sure agreed, as did his sore throat. But after the adrenaline had worn off some, someone causing him physical harm— _again, again, and again,_ whispered his brain—had made the anger kick in pretty effectively. Still...he'd lost his head and that's what he was _not_ supposed to do. Honestly, why couldn't he just remember his months of training? Frustration flooded his heart, but it was still heavy with what might be guilt or might be sad pain, but it could also even hatred—in the deepest part of himself, he knew it was all of those things.

He could still feel the ghost of fingers around his neck, trying to draw his last breath from him with agonizing pressure. He looked at his trembling hand, clenching into as tight a fist as his aching joints would allow.

He could still feel the mind-numbing fissures that turned his enemies to nothing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I decided to upload the first of a series of drabbles, which will be AUs, canon compliant, or sometimes based on headcanons. So, let's begin strong; angst and ambiguous guilt!


End file.
